


lessons in irrigation (and self-actualization)

by youngerdrgrey



Category: Queen Sugar (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Season 1, post-1x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8623345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngerdrgrey/pseuds/youngerdrgrey
Summary: Charley motions for Remy to get on with it. Tilts her head like she might be over his happiness, even as her own grin belays that. Then he laughs and asks, “Have you ever had a picnic for breakfast?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> (idk, there's two short mini-scenes that are in this because I started to see the rest of the episode and then I stopped, but they're here in case anyone's curious. I might take them down on here eventually and leave them only in the tumblr post, unless people want them here)
> 
> \+ this contains a few casual spoilers for 1x11, the High Yellow opening episode, so I'm not sure if you should read this without having seen that episode.

 

Charley alternates between watching the sunlight reflect off her tea and watching the muted black of her phone screen. A glimpse of something too bright, then a reminder of this nothingness. A moment of acknowledgment of what’s out there, then a moment of acceptance that the line’s finally gone quiet. She’d opted to stay in this morning. Hold on to the little bit of peace granted by the fact that everyone over in California isn’t even awake yet. The problem comes in when she starts wishing she weren’t awake yet either.

Everyone here’s got their own little lives, separate from the chaos that she used to wrangle in and the whole history of the family farm. Aunt Vi’s off at a morning staff meeting at the High Yellow. RA’s at the house with Blue, probably Darla too, if that dance was any indication of how much distance he can put between the two of them. Even Micah’s crashing at Nova’s house so he can tag along with her to some simple, peaceful protest in a few hours. Which is all good and well; it’s just… a little too solitary for Charley right now.

Even the news felt too loud, so she’d muted it and kept the captions on. Let it play and flicker with thoughts on how the world keeps on moving. Let it be the actual news this time, no ESPN or other sports centric thinking that only serves to suck her back into the same stress that sent her back to the South in the first place.

Her phone jumps alive with a message. She snatches it up, no time for embarrassment at her eagerness when no one else can see.

**From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 8:17a  
****//** Morning. Are you up?

She most certainly is. She keeps her grip on her tea with one hand and texts with the other.

**From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 8:18a  
** // I am. And a good morning back to you.

**From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 8:19a  
** // It will be. Can you meet me at the farm as soon as you can?

The farm? She barely has enough time to start typing her response before it buzzes again.

**From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 8:19a  
** // Don’t panic, Charley.  
// Just head this way.

Maybe Remy doesn’t know her if he thinks that she can get a text like that and not worry about it. The last time they were at the farm first thing, two people were murdered on her daddy’s land. So, what could this be? Something wrong with the cane maybe, or some other little problem to show her before telling everyone else. Or maybe, maybe he wants to show off. Take her on a walk through the fields and explain how he breathes life back into the already rich and supple soil, throw her one of his sideways  _trying to be respectful but we both know what I’m thinking_  kind of glances so she knows he’s talking about more than the land.

Honestly, it doesn’t matter much either way what’s happening. She’s spent the last thirty minutes stuck in this rut, so whatever Remy’s thinking has to be better than this.

**From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 8:20a  
** // I’ll be right over.

She lifts off the couch, phone and tea still with her. Heads through the house to get to the room she’s been sharing with Micah.

**From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 8:23a  
****//** As soon as you can. & there’s no one to impress but me, so you don’t have to worry too much about what to wear and how to look.

**From Charley Bordelon to Remy Newell, 8:24a  
** // And if I want to impress you?

**From Remy Newell to Charley Bordelon, 8:24a  
** **//**  You already have.  
// See you soon.

She tries biting down on her smile but winds up letting it shine. No one to impress there and no one to hide from here. She takes one look at the closet before reaching some jeans near the foot of the bed. He said quick, so he’s getting something simple. Jeans and a t-shirt, maybe a v-neck one so she can at least feel like she’s a person and not another shadow moving through the fields. No lipstick, though a tinted balm isn’t out of the question. Just a little something, you know, enough to feel like she’s not quite as vulnerable around him as those eyes make her feel.

As she heads out, she shoots one last text for the morning before putting her phone on vibrate.

 

**From Charley Bordelon to Nova Bordelon, 8:40a  
** // Call me if something goes wrong. Otherwise, I’m out of reach right now. Getting a lesson in irrigation.

.

.

**From Nova Bordelon to Charley Bordelon, 9:13a  
** // You’re messier than I thought.  
// But go on. Be free sister.

.

.

Charley doesn’t fully read Nova’s message until she’s pulling onto the road by her daddy’s house. Remy pokes his head out of his truck as she drives close. Hops on out to greet her as she puts her car in park and shakes her head at Nova.

He leans in through her rolled down window. Talks around a wild smile. “Good morning again.”

He’s close enough that she could peck him if she wanted to. A little bit of a push on her side, and their lips could brush in one of the most casual and careless of greetings. But they might want to work up to that. She might want to hold back before she immediately replaces her marriage with what she has here with Remy. (Not that she’s trying to replace it, or even that she could. Like she’d said, eighteen years is a long time, and this might be great, but she doesn’t quite know what this is yet. That good old-fashioned courtship where he tells her his intentions and lets her come to him. Lets her make the moves that eventually lead to them both of them crumbling and crossing lines that might not need to be crossed so soon.)

She blinks. Reaches to unbuckle her seatbelt until the urge to kiss him lessens a little. “You seem pretty convinced about that.”

He pulls open her door while she grabs her purse off the passenger seat.

“Well, I am nothing if not confident in my abilities,” he says. “Now, aren’t you gonna ask why you’re here?”

She nearly sends another dig his way. Nearly, but his eyes catch the whole of the sunlight hitting them and his cheekbones make her want to praise a little, and it wouldn’t be so bad to see him keep this pleased air for a while. So she motions for him to get on with it. Tilts her head like she might be over his happiness, even as her own grin belays that.

“Fine. Why am I here, Remy?” she asks.

He laughs. “Have you ever had a picnic for breakfast?”

She could kill him.

Or kiss him.

Maybe kill him with kisses on her daddy’s land over some picnic blanket he’s had through many a picnic. He’s not holding one, and she figures he spent the time before she arrived setting up for this. He probably scouted out the driest spot, one where they could see the wind blow over the plants and watch the sun dance on the side of the house and know, unequivocally, that they’re both part of this world, even when they’re all on their own.

“Can’t say I have.” She steps in to him. “Tell me, has this worked on other girls?”

He tilts his head down towards hers. “I only thought of it for you. You’ll have to tell me how it works out.”

She taps her tongue against her molars to buy herself a moment to respond. Reminds herself that this man might be good and damn attractive, but she’s not about to give into his energy on this land. “I can let you know.”

“Good, now if you’d please, our food can only stay warm for so long.” He holds his hand out to her, and she (processes, freezes and recaps the last time his hand had been on hers as they shuffled through the High Yellow, or the warmth radiating from his fingertips when his hand had been on her back in the storm, the flush of her whole body to wake with him, to feel so grounded and cared for after weeks of drifting) — she (knows how easy it’d be to take his hand and tug him to her, to keep her arm locked so both of those arms stay at their sides while she brings up her other hand to guide his face to hers, to run the corner of a nail along his skin and draw out a sigh that goes from his soul through to hers) — needless to say, she takes the hand. Shifts her index finger over so it locks with his pinky. Not quite full on interlocked fingers, but partially.

That’s what she needs this to be. That’s where she needs this to stay. Close, but not to the point where she can’t pull away. Not to the point where she forgets that leaving is even an option. She can’t stay with him forever, even if she’s starting to recognize how easy that might be.

.

 

 

.

_(and in the house, Blue keeps asking about Darla. Wants to see her, but Ralph Angel insists that it’s only going to be the two of them today and that Darla won’t always be around, which brings out some of the worst in Blue._

_(“If Mom wants to be here, she should be here,” Blue says, and it’s not said with the normal light in Blue’s voice. Bass and huff mix in, and Rah closes his eyes to steel himself from the onslaught of emotions heading his way. “You can’t keep her away anymore.”_

_(“I’m not keeping her away, Blue. You gotta listen.”_

_“To what?”_

_“To what I’m saying! Listen. It’s a good thing that you want so much and have all these hopes for the future. And I will always do everything I can to make your dreams come true, but you gotta try and understand that Darla’s not always going to be around and that just because we hang out a lot doesn’t mean we’re a family.”_

_“But we are a family, Pop! She’s our family. You and me and Aunt Vi and Hollywood and Aunt Nova and —“_

_“I know who’s family, Blue.”_

_“And Micah and Aunt Charley and Mom!”_

_“Okay, you’re gonna stop yelling at me.”_

_“You’re yelling at me!”_

_“I’m grown, Blue! I can yell whenever I want, and it seems like you’ll only listen when I do! Your mama's not coming today. Now go on in your room. Stay there until you remember how to talk to me.”)_

.

.

_(and Nova and Micah head out to a protest that Chantal’s leading. Nova guides him through the growing crowd while Chantal talks through a megaphone._

_Chantal calls out, “Now, remember, we aren’t here to start anything, and I doubt it’ll be finished with us here today. Stay mindful and vigilant. If anyone does try starting something, remind them why we’re here.”_

_Micah asks Nova, “Why’s she gotta say all this?”_

_Nova says, “For newcomers like you. Folks who don’t know how we do it around here. Listen up.”_

_Nova listens, watches from their vantage spot a few rows deep into the crowd. She doesn’t want to grab a lot of attention, but Chantal spots her anyway. Their eyes snag, and Chantal’s lips curl a little more without her approval. She doesn’t miss a beat though in her explanation._

_Micah nudges Nova. “Why aren’t we closer?”_

_She nudges him back, more to have something to do than to be cute. “We’re respectful.”_

_His brows furrow. “You’re not hiding, are you? Because I don’t think anyone here would make a big deal out of this.”_

_Whether or not that’s true, Micah would make a big deal out of her break up. He’d want answers without knowing if it’s appropriate for him to ask the questions. He’d want to read into them being here and maybe ask if Calvin, or the married man as Micah knows him, has anything to do with this ending._

_Right now, that’s not what Nova wants to focus on. “This isn’t our stage, Micah. No high-jacking people’s moments.”_

_“But we’re here anyway. We should be as close as we can be so she knows we’re here.”_

_“She knows. And it’s not just about her. We march for them. For all of us. You want people marching for you, right?”_

_He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m already here. You don’t have to rouse me to action.”_

_She clicks her tongue. “You get that mouth from your mama.”_

_His cheeks and chest puff out a bit in his pride. “I know.”_

_She ruffles his hair until it draws Chantal’s eye again. Then she stops, gives a nod to this woman that’s not hers to claim anymore, and pulls Micah back under one arm. “You stay close, you hear? And listen. You don’t know nothing about this.”)_

.

.

.

The blanket’s close enough under a tree so that some shade bathes the two of them. Keeps Charley’s shirt from completely sticking to her back and her jeans from tightening up around her. She sips at the iced tea in one the jars he brought before passing it on to him so he can sip too. His lips land in the same spot on the rim as hers did, and she really has no reason to stare. No reason not to either. No reason to deny herself the view of him, or pretend that sharing with someone again doesn’t make her lungs expand and her cheeks turn up. He sets the jar back down in the little groove they’d made for it, right off the blanket that she’s pretty sure is smaller than it needed to be. Remy probably picked the size on purpose, nothing too big so she couldn’t scoot away from him without getting dirty.

Even now, post-picnic, she can’t quite pull away from him. Still so close that the only things between their bodies are the crockpot and picnic basket that they haven’t yet moved from the center of the blanket. It’s a good thing she likes him too, or else she wouldn’t be laying here, propped up on one elbow so she can peer across at him, getting lightly blinded every time the sunlight does poke through the leaves above them.

“It’s working, isn’t it?” Remy wipes the condensation from the jar onto his pants. He’s not as low onto the blanket as her, but she’s used to looking up at people anyway. She was with six foot, forever inches Davis West after all.

The question must not be rhetorical because Remy’s eyes turn expectant. She rolls back into her shoulders a bit. “I think so, yes. Depends on what exactly you mean by ‘working.’” If he’s trying to seduce her, then he might have to put some more effort in. Not much, but some. Lay out the cards clearly so she knows the best plan of attack. Give her some time to study up on him and how to make him tick, and which patches of skin and nerves say everything she probably won’t be able to say for a while.

He bobs his head. “I did want to spend the day with you, yes, but I do have an ulterior motive,” he says. That peaks up her eyebrows, gets a lip to lift so she’s almost smirking at him. He admits, “Not like that. I wanted you to spend some time on the land without actually tending to it. To just be in it and feel it, so you can feel those who’ve been here.”

She snorts, which makes his face fall. “Sorry, that wasn’t —“ She pushes at the hair swinging towards her face. “I’ve been working on that connection practically my whole life, and it’s not really there that much. Not as much as I want it to be. Though, I don’t know, ever since Daddy…. Since he died, I feel like he’s helping that along some.”

“That’s good.”

But that’s not even all of it. “I spent my whole childhood sort of fighting with the land. It was Daddy’s other kid, you know, just me and Nova and this.” She chuckles without a lot of humor in it. “And Nova and me spent so much time in this stupid game of who’s better and who’s the good child, that I spent most of my time hiding away from all of it. While she’d be out here with a notepad, I’d be up in my room, wondering why my sister didn’t like me so much.”

She probably shouldn’t be saying all this. He wants to talk about something, and here she is diverting to her own baggage. This is a date, isn’t it? Shouldn’t she be smiling, not dredging up old emotions?

He says, “Hey, don’t apologize for sharing. Don’t take it back now.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. I didn’t know about you and Nova not getting along well. Ernest never mentioned that.” Remy’s eyes get a distance to them, like he’s going back to find what Ernest did mention. Like he’s feeling Ernest’s presence in the same way Charley is. “But he always had something to say about his baby girls. He loved him some you.”

Charley’s lips wobble so she tries tucking them into a corner of her cheeks. Tries holding onto them until the action brings Remy’s full focus right back to her. She shakes her head, though she doesn’t really know what she’s arguing against. Telling him not to worry, maybe. Telling herself not to do this. “I loved him too. Very much,” she says, and if it’s hard to talk around the narrowing of her throat, Remy doesn’t mention it.

He does shuffle closer though. He settles down onto his side, and she sinks back off her elbow to match him. Their heads come out about level once she slips an arm under to keep her head propped up. Her toes wiggle, kind of like they’re reaching for him, like she should be flush against him so all of his warmth can fight against this chill creeping over her. But they’ve still got the food carriers between them. And it’s not like she wants to pull out of this moment to move them out of the way.

Remy clears his throat. Not by much, but enough that she meets his gaze and hears him when he talks. “Ernest never faulted you for not visiting you know. He understood. Wished it could be different, but he understood.”

“I don’t see how he could’ve. I never quite understood it myself. I don’t know. I didn’t grow up always down here. I came for summers and sometimes over breaks. I barely stayed longer than a few months, and when I did, I spent so long chasing after Nova’s attention that Daddy’s always seemed a bit like a consolation prize. Then Rah came along, and by that point, I was — what — eight? I stopped trying with the land and with Nova. But we came together long enough to make sure our baby brother didn’t feel like we did, like we came second to another child or would never care the way Daddy wanted us to. And even still… this place will always be my home. I just very rarely felt at peace here the way that Nova and Rah did. It always felt fleeting, like I wasn’t meant to be here forever, so coming back, as I got older, felt more and more like a tease. Like a reminder that I’m not the same as everyone else here. Maybe it was my mom, or the California in me, or just the fact that something about me wasn’t supposed to have that connection to our past…. I don’t know.”

And yet, she does. That’s the thing about a lack of something. A person, like Charley, can spend their whole life wondering and debating about that lack. It’ll start as a small question and grow with every potential answer, every exception to the newly placed rule. First the lack comes from her being too young to understand, but if she doesn’t understand as she grows, then it must be something else. It could be her skin color — lighter than even the driest and most sunburnt of soils — but there’s other light-skinned kids running through the South who connect and vibe with this world around them and are more down than she could ever picture herself being. It could be the way she talks, but a lack of AAVE on the regular doesn’t detract from her blackness and her potential to be one with a past that she can literally trace back to one plot of eight hundred acres.

So she has a list, of every possible reason for this lack, every possible mistake and misstep that could play into the fact that it took her daddy dying to bring her home and make her feel like maybe she belongs in the land that her family’s fought so damn long for. It took losing one constant in her life to even get her to think back to the other constant doubts that she’d thought she’d left a long time ago.

For his part, Remy listens. God, does he listen, rapt and unrestrained, he watches her eyes blink around unshed tears and follows the tracks of those that get pushed forward. He memorizes the slopes of her lips as they form and reform starts of phrases that keep catching her up. Then he reaches a hand out, puts it — opened palm, facing hers, fingers wriggling for attention — and it’s right at the bottom of her field of vision, above the crockpot that keeps her from rolling over into his arms. She slides her hand into his, grasps him, and he says his thanks and pushes his sorries through a squeeze of their fingers.

He says, “You can explore that connection now, right?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m trying, but this doesn’t come easy for me.”

“It doesn’t have to. It just has to come eventually. Tend to it. Nurture it and focus on this, because it’s there, Charley. It’s in the slight hitch of your shoulders when you look over the fields. It’s in the way your chest rises quick but falls slower, like you’re taking your time in giving that CO2 back to them. You’ve got to give it the space to grow. Give it a little water and let it be. You’ll hear it. Just listen.”

So they do. Together, curved around this basket, hands clasped and eyes forward, softly drifting closer.

“Just listen."

.

.

.

(Her phone vibrates about an hour later. She pushes away from it, and Remy — half-asleep himself — lets her go long enough to pick up the stuff on the blanket and move it to the grass behind him. He tugs her close once they’re gone. Sighs into the curve of her neck as she leans back into his chest. The phone stops vibrating, and they drift back again.)

.

.

Charley stirs, jaw working circles and tongue darting out to wet dry lips. Her toes curl and uncurl within her boots. She’s flushed through to her cheeks, whole body heated like it hasn’t been since the storm, since the last time she fell asleep curled up with Remy. Her hand’s still in his, but the crockpot’s not there anymore. Had he moved it and then pulled her over to him? How had she missed that? How caught up in this sleep could she have been that she couldn’t feel him bringing her closer or him letting go for a moment?

She cracks dry eyes — too dry, should’ve taken out her contacts dry — and reaches blindly for her purse. She keeps glasses there in case of an emergency, and now might be the time to break them out. She can’t reach too far without disturbing him. His breath’s deep and consistent against her neck, and his arm flexes against her when she tries to scoot closer to the bag. The sun still shines above them, all warm and welcoming. So they couldn’t have slept long. It’s got to be about midday, judging by how thirsty she is. The water’s out of reach too. Not much to do but risk waking him at this point.

Charley goes for the glasses first. She releases the hand clasped in his and slides forward along the blanket until she can pull her bag onto it. She pulls her contacts out with one hand and puts her glasses on with the other. It takes a few blinks to readjust and get her eyes accustomed to air again. But damn, does it feel good to be free.

She tries slipping back into his grip, but he’s awake by now. Hums what might have been a greeting if he could get his mouth opened. She doesn’t glance back. Doesn’t let a look make this any more real than it is.

“Ground’s still warm,” she says. An observation more than it is a question.

“Yeah, there’s a little tarp under the blanket. Wanted you to be comfortable here.”

She snuggles back fully to his chest. “I am.”

“Good.”

Though, it’d be better if she could see him. Actively touch him. So she lifts up and rolls over to face him. He grins as she does it, and the smile only widens when he spots the glasses.

“I’ve never seen these before,” he says.

"You've never had reason to." She scrunches her face so her frames move back up to proper position. They like to slip, and she doesn't get them tightened very often. "I don't wear them much anymore. People tend to take me more seriously without them."

"Don't know why. You look like you mean business. About to melt me with your magnifying glasses."

She laughs, head rolling to the side to contain a bit of the joy and save it for later. "Don't make me hold them in the sun."

"I couldn't make you do anything."

"You couldn't." She stills a bit. Watches his eyes and finds herself staring down at his lips, the collar of his shirt, the flare of his nostrils as he breathes. "But I could be persuaded.”

“Could you now?”

She nods, shifting up towards him. “Mhm. Try it out."

"You get that this is you telling me to tell you what to do, right?"

"Do you wanna make sure I'm clear or do you want to kiss me again?"

"I take it they're mutually exclusive?"

At that, she lightly headbutts him. Jabbing her forehead against his with feigned frustration. He laughs, and she laughs, and the air passes between them as he nearly closes the gap.

“Say it,” she whispers.

He wets his lips. “Charley.” It’s close enough. She leans over, then — “Kiss me.” He tells her to do it because that’s what she wants. Someone unafraid to tell her when she’s stubborn and who won’t look at her as if she’s the only way to fix problems that she hadn’t even known were there. Someone who can see her for all these newfound complexities within her and can somehow reach all of them with a look, a brush, a simple shared breath.

She kisses him like she doesn’t know when she’ll get to do it again, like they’re back in Vi’s living room and no one’s around to interrupt them. It’s still not enough though. She pushes at his chest until he’s flat on his back. Breaks the kiss barely long enough to roll over onto him so that one knee’s on their blanket and the other’s digging slightly into the dirt on the other side of him.

Remy stares up at her with wide eyes and dilated pupils. His hands find her hips before she sweeps back down to claim his lips again. If she’d wanted to, she could have him begging. Pleading for her to do just about anything, and if he asked, she would. If he cocked his head to the side and flashed his teeth at her, if he so much as breathed out her name, she would follow this man. That’s how they got here — to her straddling him in the middle of the day. Which, she has to say, isn’t so much about control as it is about vantage. She wants to feel him everywhere she can, wants to learn some of those ticks and keep the moment from slipping away from them again.

Her shoulders flex as she shifts lower. Her ponytail swings onto one side, so it brushes his neck. She lifts up to sweep it back, but it falls down again. She peers down at him.

“Should I tie it up or?” It’s a matter of preference. (Davis’ used to change. Some days he’d want no distractions, hair up and out of the way so clean up could be simple and he wouldn’t have to deal with the side-eyes for messing up freshly pressed and perfectly moisturized hair. Other days, the hair helped; the ghost of her ends against his skin.) She takes another breath until the memories clear and all she can see, once again, is this man before her.

Remy doesn’t seem to have a preference so long as she stays on top of him. He pulls her back to him, and her knee pushes deeper into the soil. A little cold, a little wet, but his fingers scorch up her lower back as they climb. His thumbs knead against hips that roll above him, and when she goes to move her hair again, he seems to be able to find words.

He breathes out, “You know, this really wasn’t the plan.”

“Oh it wasn’t?” Her doubt still in her tone. It mingles with her humor, her self-assured and all but confirmed knowledge that he wants her enough that any plans can always be changed.

“Unh-unh.”

Bun secure, she lifts her hips from his, going up on thigh strength alone. “So you want me to stop?”

He pulls her back down. “That’s not what I said. Just wasn’t sure if you wanted to do this right now and right here.”

She wants to do a lot of things right here and right now. None of them are helped by a reminder of where they are. That second is all it takes to bring back the fact that they’re in the open in this land. Even if they didn’t strip down, Ralph Angel or Blue could easily find them out here. Charley managed to get through all of childhood without being caught in compromising situations. She doesn't need to start.

She also hasn’t checked on Micah. Miriam’s meant to call her sometime today about which team Davis is leaning towards. They don’t have a locked in plan on how to pay for everything since the first national bank of Charley can’t exactly foot the bill for all the grinding and fucking. Trucking*

Grinding of the cane and trucking of everything that they’ve been growing.

She and Remy sigh together.

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” he says. She grins down, and the way his eyes light up, she’d think she was the sun.

“You really should have.” She presses a hand down on the blanket so she can swing her leg back over and off of him. Sits down beside him and stares out into the fields. “If nothing else, I think there’s at least a bit more appreciation for the land now.”

His bark of a laugh makes the joke worth it. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

.

.

.

She has mud all over her knee when they do walk back towards their cars. Rah catches sight of them from the porch. Charley does her best not to shift like they’re guilty of anything. She does hike up her grip on the basket though.

Ralph Angel calls out, “Everything okay? Y’all good?”

She nods. “We’re all good! Blue inside?”

“Yeah.” Ralph Angel waits until they’re a little closer and meets them down on the walk. Holds out a hand towards the basket that now only holds containers and a blanket. Charley pauses in her step long enough to pass them off to him. Rah continues, saying, “He pouted himself right to sleep since Darla ain’t here. But we’re working on it. At least I am. You know how they are.”

Kids in general, or Blue and Darla, because all included seem steadfast on sticking to their ground and making sure that they get their way. Nothing wrong with being certain, of course, just that Rah’s surrounded by people who count pride and their opinions above almost everything else.

“He’ll come around,” she assures him. “They always do."

Remy sets the crockpot on the passenger side. Ralph Angel hands the other stuff over, and Remy places them on the floor. There’s a lull, a moment where Remy seems to falter on where to go next. But Charley holds her arms out for a hug, and he goes to them. Holds her tight while she furrows into his chest for a beat.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome. Any time.” Then he pulls back and turns to Ralph Angel. “I should be heading back. I’ve got class tomorrow.”

Right, the professor and water irrigation specialist and, what else had he said before? He cuts hair? He could probably cut Micah’s while Hollywood’s still out. If that’s not forcing something onto either of them. She could mention it. For now, she steps back until her back’s at her car. Remy slips into his and tips his head to each of them.

“Charley. Ralph Angel.” He says in way of goodbye.

Rah gives a short wave. “See ya, Remy.”

Charley waves too. The both of the siblings watch Remy pull out and off of their land. Charley keeps her eyes on him for a while because she knows that the moment she turns to Ralph Angel, he’ll have something to say.

Rah clicks his tongue. “Since when do you like picnics, Charley?”

She side-eyes her little brother. “Since you started minding your own business.”

His hands go up defensively. “Just asking. Just wondering. Now I won’t tell nobody what I saw. So long as you don’t let me know what I could’ve seen if I’d gone out there.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Now he gets to sound doubtful. “Y’alls cars been here nearly four hours, Charley. What you do, walk the length of the land?”

She shrugs. “Thought you didn’t want to know.”

“I don’t. But Nova will.” With that, Rah heads back towards the house. Charley rushes after him, half-formed protests spilling from her lips. He don’t listen. “Bet she’ll love to hear about it. Don’t bother changing neither. That muddy knee of yours says it all.”

“Ralph Angel, don’t you dare!”

He cackles. "Irrigation lesson. I can't."

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End file.
